


Limits

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 20:59:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he watches his friend from across the table, watches the way he takes a long drink of his wine, licks his lips and wipes at his chin absently, and meets his eye when he catches Aramis staring – and smiles, that kind of ridiculous smile that never seems to quite fit his face but is charming enough that Aramis can’t help but love it.  Aramis decides, right then, that he wants to suck Porthos’ cock.  It’s a simple enough decision, really, and it’d be good for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jlarinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlarinda/gifts).



> Written with the prompt of "enthusiastic cocksucking" as well as the secondary request of Aramis getting drunk enough to start calling everyone "love". (I say secondary only because it's only kind of touched on here.) 
> 
> Also, note that, technically, this could be considered dub-con since both characters are at least tipsy. I'm not tagging it in additional notes since it's just a minor thing in regards to their personalities, but if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, I definitely wanted to give the warning. Just in case!

Aramis regards Porthos from across the little table they sit at, the tavern dim, and a few scattering of cards spread out between them. Aramis knows better than to try to play a legitimate game of cards, complete with bets and wagers, because Porthos is a horrible cheat (and, really, so is he) so it’s better to keep it light, waiting to see if someone else will try their luck between the two of them. There’s a modest catch of coins between them regardless, but it’s spare change in comparison to what they could win from someone else. As it is, Aramis doesn’t mind sharing a few drinks with his friend, the evening quiet and uneventful. It seems most everyone agrees with this sentiment, as there aren’t many in the tavern this night – perhaps the stifling heat has kept the populace away for the time being, drunk in their own homes or in the arms of their lovers. 

There are the tavern-workers, of course, and a few scattering of men throughout the tables. Athos called it an early night, as was his way, and d'Artagnan was with Constance. (Porthos and Aramis had teased him mercilessly when he’d said as much, not an hour ago, but it hadn’t kept him from leaving to visit his ‘friend’. Porthos and Aramis just exchanged a look at that, because, really, _friend_?) 

So it’s shaping up to be an uneventful evening with Porthos, which Aramis doesn’t exactly mind, especially not given the last few weeks – entirely too eventful, really, Aramis thinks, and not in the fun, adventurous way he likes. He knows that Porthos shares his thoughts on that, since the kind of darkened anger still hasn’t fully left his eyes when the light flickers to them properly. He drinks his wine and laughs at Aramis’ jokes, as he always does, but Aramis feels tired, too. But there’s a kind of comfort in that, too, in known that neither of them need to explain anything to each other. They can be exactly who they are, without judgment. 

And he watches his friend from across the table, watches the way he takes a long drink of his wine, licks his lips and wipes at his chin absently, and meets his eye when he catches Aramis staring – and smiles, that kind of ridiculous smile that never seems to quite fit his face but is charming enough that Aramis can’t help but love it. There’s a kind of reassurance in seeing Porthos smile. He can’t help it – he’ll always want him to be smiling. 

Aramis decides, right then, that he wants to suck Porthos’ cock. It’s a simple enough decision, really, and it’d be good for both of them. And now that he thinks of it, it seems to Aramis to be exactly what Porthos needs – and who is he to deny what his friend needs? Besides, Aramis himself has always considered himself a giver. He’s very sacrificing like that, after all. 

Of course, now there’s the matter of presenting the idea to Porthos. The easy part is deciding it for himself – this is how he normally comes to his sexual decisions, spur-of-the-moment and brilliant as they are. Aramis smiles at him, slow and gentle, tilting his head to the side and resting his cheek against his palm, elbow on the table as he looks at his friend. 

Porthos gives him a look in return as soon as their eyes meet, his lips pursing and eyebrows lifting. His deadpan really is amusing. Aramis’ smile widens. Porthos grunts a little and takes a long drink of his wine, draining the cup. When he sets it down, Aramis is quick to retrieve the bottle and pour him another full cup. 

“How’s your shoulder?” Aramis asks, and he can tell by the way Porthos’ brow furrows that he’s asked an unexpected question. This just makes Aramis’ smile soften, fond despite himself, regarding his friend with that kind of warmth he rarely disguises. Rarely needs to disguise, when it comes to his companions. 

Porthos shrugs, both as an act of dismissal and to demonstrate his range of motion. “It’s fine. Healing.”

Aramis lifts his eyebrows. “I should probably check the stitching, shouldn’t I?”

Porthos takes a long drink of his wine and sets the cup down, letting his thumb press along the rim in a way that Aramis is momentarily mesmerized by. 

“It’s fine,” Porthos says with another dismissive shrug. “I don’t need you doting.” 

“Doting!” Aramis exclaims and laughs, placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. “Porthos! My dear friend, I never _dote._ ” 

And there’s Porthos’ smile again, lighting up his face as he laughs, and Aramis feels a flush of warmth in the pit of his stomach, a punch of desire as well as the general fondness he always feels whenever Porthos laughs. Aramis grins back.

“I do believe you’re mocking me,” he teases warmly, and tops off Porthos’ cup with yet more wine. He pours himself a liberal amount and begins to drink, too, peering at Porthos over the lip of his cup. 

Porthos tilts his head a little, watching him curiously, taking a long drink. When he sets it down, he grins at Aramis. 

“Want to play another round?” Porthos asks, gesturing to the cards between them. 

Aramis laughs, feeling warm with wine and affection, imagines just dropping down beneath the table and walking on his knees to Porthos, hands resting on his thighs. But now he’s committed himself to the act of seduction, envisioning leading Porthos out back behind the tavern, pressed up against the wall, his lips curled around his cock. 

He purses his lips as if in thought, muffling back a wide smile. “You just want to practice cheating, my friend, by all means.” 

“Tell me if you can see the king,” Porthos agrees with a shrug, shuffling the cards and dealing them between the two of them, careful not to reveal the underside of his wrist. 

“You are a remarkably poor sport,” Aramis teases. 

“It’s a flaw,” Porthos returns, in that way that means he actually has no intention of remedying said faults. He shrugs. “It’s hardly my fault if everyone else is a sore loser.” 

“You’re an incredibly poor winner,” Aramis returns, grinning as he fetches his pile of cards, arranging them by suit color. “You get entirely too smug. It’s a wonder you haven’t had to duel all of Paris yet for all the bruised egos.” 

“I’d like to see them try,” Porthos says and picks up his drink, taking a long sip from it around his entirely too pleased grin. Aramis can see the king tucked under his sleeve and his smile warms even further. 

They play their game, and Porthos wins, of course. Aramis gives him some pointers on how to better cheat, which Porthos scoffs at even if it’s perfectly good advice, in Aramis’ opinion. They share the bottle of wine between them and when that’s empty, Aramis fetches a second bottle, pouring his friend a liberal amount before handing the cup to him, letting his fingertips brush and linger across Porthos’ scarred knuckles. He drinks a generous amount himself, lets the wine dull his senses as it also emboldens him, leaving him smiling and swaying a little in his seat. 

“More wine, love,” he calls out to a passing barmaid and he hadn’t meant to call her that but he likes the way the word settles on his tongue. He laughs. “Love.”

Porthos rolls his eyes, shuffling the cards quickly, his fingers working at keeping the deck moving. It isn’t that Porthos is a poor card player. He’s highly skilled, certainly, Aramis thinks – but it’s those hands. His hands are large, his fingers thick. It’s difficult for him to easily do sleight of hand, much less smaller tasks. He’s hopeless with a needle and thread, even if he had any skill for the task at all. Everything about Porthos is big and blunt – there’s very little room for precision beyond what’s inherently instinctive in a soldier. All the same, Aramis rests his cheek on his own hand and watches Porthos shuffle, strangely mesmerized by it – how earnest the action almost is, despite the way his fingers fumble and nearly drop the cards even as he expertly shuffles them. 

“Hmm,” he hums out. “Love.”

He glances up at Porthos and Porthos rolls his eyes with a soft snort, looking vaguely embarrassed but mostly amused, despite himself. Aramis knows that look well. He’s been on the receiving end of that look many times before. 

They play the card game in silence for a while, and Aramis loses spectacularly – partly, he thinks, because he is letting Porthos win but also because he’s drunk enough now to not care to be competitive. Porthos seems pleased, so in the end perhaps he’s still won regardless. Porthos pockets the small amount of change sprawled out between them and Aramis signals for more drinks. 

“We’ll have to be up early tomorrow,” Porthos says, although he doesn’t protest when Aramis pours more wine. “We shouldn’t be out too much later.”

“Where is your sense of adventure, love?” Aramis drawls out, teasing, not meaning to say the word but it’s already there and Porthos is rolling his eyes again, the corner of his mouth threatening a small smile. Aramis, in turn, grins. “The night is young.” 

“You’re trying to keep me here,” Porthos responds and grins. “Want to win your money back?”

“Oh, my friend, that is not what I wish to win,” Aramis says before he can stop himself, and smiles coyly at him. 

Porthos shrugs, and gives him a long look. “You’re giving me the stare.”

“Am I?” Aramis asks, and tilts his head for good measure, allowing himself to smile, slow and gently in the low light of the tavern. 

“Have been all night,” Porthos says, shrugging, and doesn’t seem entirely bothered. Which is always a good sign. “So. You’re keeping me here.”

“I am,” Aramis agrees with a dramatic sigh. 

“Why?” Porthos asks. 

“I’m trying to get you drunk enough so that you’ll allow me to suck you off behind the tavern,” Aramis says, conversationally enough, deciding to hell with the (somewhat) subtle flirtation and going for the direct route. 

Sure enough, Porthos just laughs and rolls his eyes again, as if he is halfway torn between dismissing it as a joke or to just shake his head yet again at Aramis’ antics. 

“Are you supposed to tell me that?” he asks, still laughing, and the mirth crinkles the corners of his eyes. 

Aramis grins and shrugs, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head, regarding him with what Porthos always refers to as The Stare, because Porthos is lovely and ridiculous and also incredibly bad at thinking up creative names for things, clearly. 

“I figured you’d enjoy the direct approach. I know how you love your men confident.” 

Porthos regards him thoughtfully. And then lifts an eyebrow, reaches out, and drinks his drink, watching him pointedly. He lowers his eyes soon enough, though, despite himself – and his expression is gruff, and, Aramis thinks with a secret delight, embarrassed. But also not saying no. 

He glances up at Porthos, slowly, letting his eyelashes flicker across his cheeks in a way he knows usually sets at least one woman into his arms. Porthos is obviously not a woman, but now that his intentions are clear, there’s no sense in not having a little fun. He reaches out, letting his fingers slide over the deck of cards, drawing them from Porthos.

“One more game?” he asks, smiling. 

Porthos is quiet for a moment and then shrugs, and when he meets his eyes, it’s definitely as someone interested. “Yeah, alright.” 

They play in silence and this time, Aramis wins. He reaches out with a grin to slide the coins off the table, but Porthos reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist, holding him in place. He leans in closer and Aramis grins wickedly at him, leaning in closer in turn, tilting his head and watching his friend’s face, tracing the line of his jaw and the slight downturn of his lips. Very kissable lips, he thinks, and wonders why he didn’t think of kissing him before. 

“So,” he says softly, grinning at Porthos.

Porthos grins back after a moment. “So. This plan of yours.” 

“Plan?” Aramis parrots and then laughs. “It’s a great plan, my friend. Involves getting on my knees and pushing you up against a wall. It’s very daring.” 

Porthos laughs, and it’s deep and rich and sends a shiver down Aramis’ spine. 

“And?” Porthos prompts. 

Aramis laughs, too, and glances around. And then leans in closer, as if revealing a deep secret when he whispers, “I’d press you against the wall and you’d only need my mouth to get off. I’d suck you off and then I’d let you come on my face.”

Porthos makes a soft sound at that.

Aramis’ eyes glitter in the light as he continues, “Or my mouth. Whichever you prefer. The mouth is certainly easier clean up, my friend, but being considerate has never been a priority for you, I know. But the face or the hand can get a little messy.” He leans in closer, still, leaning heavily on the table in order to give him a slow, secretive smile. “… Would you like that, Porthos?” 

Porthos says nothing, but his eyes seem darker than before, and he hasn’t moved his hand from Aramis’ wrist. 

Aramis smiles wider. “I know you would. You don’t have to say it.” He tilts his head. “Have you ever thought of it?” 

Porthos doesn’t say anything, but his eyes drop to Aramis’ mouth, letting his gaze linger. Aramis smiles, slow and purposeful, and watches as Porthos slowly pulls his eyes back up to meet his gaze. Aramis lifts his eyebrows expectantly. 

“I know you’d like it,” Aramis continues, not waiting for Porthos to reply, knowing that Porthos likes to listen to the words, soft and spoken as if it’s a secret between just the two of them. He feels Porthos hold tight to his wrist and slowly Aramis turns his hand, letting his thumb brush along Porthos’ palm – an innocent enough touch, turned heated as he gazes at Porthos. “I know you’d like it,” he repeats, quieter this time, and adds, “I know exactly what I’d do for you.” 

Porthos closes his eyes, breathes out – and Aramis knows he’s won. He slides his fingers over Porthos’ palm as he slowly pulls his hand back, smiling at him all the while. 

“So this is what we’re going to do,” Aramis says pleasantly. “I’ll settle our tab while you go out back and wait for me – just outside, against the wall. And I’ll come to you once business is settled.” 

Porthos grunts, and Aramis nods, standing to go to the barkeep and settle their bill. When he glances over his shoulder, Porthos is heading for the exit. Aramis grins. 

He takes his time, savoring the anticipation, adjusting his hair and placing his hat on his head gently, straightening the sleeves of his coat before he makes his way to the back of the tavern, towards the exit door. 

He lifts his hand and presses the door open, slipping outside with only a brief moment of pause, enjoying the situation he’s found himself in. Porthos is waiting, arms crossed and looking grumpy, but his expression relaxes a little when he catches sight of Aramis, and he reaches out, fingers closing around the front of his tunic and pulling him out the rest of the way, letting the door close behind them. 

“Did you get lost?” he teases, eyebrow raised and then smirking a little, in that way that always makes Aramis appreciate the lines of his face, but he just gives him a winning smile, placing his own hand on Porthos’ chest and pushing him back until he presses gently to the wall of the tavern. 

“I prefer to think of it as enjoying the long way to a destination. You know, enjoying the sights,” Aramis teases back, letting his hand rest against Porthos’ chest, feels the familiar and pleasant beat of his heart underneath his palm. He can’t help it. It always comforts him. It always will, too, he knows. His thumb follows the line of the scar above his heart that he knows is there, that he shaped and tended to years before, his breath caught in his throat for fear of his friend’s life. It’s not an unpleasant reminder, but he never forgets where Porthos’ scars lie, and where those scars came from. He shakes his head a little and looks up at him, sly, smiling as he says, “Certainly you can appreciate the view, Porthos.” 

Porthos snorts at the words and leans back against the wall. He stays like that for a moment, eyes lowered, watching the way Aramis moves his thumb over his chest. Just an absent touch, hardly anything at all. He looks up after a moment to meet Aramis’ eyes, and now, in the safety of the dark night, without a table between them, Porthos just drinks Aramis in. His eyes study his face for a moment, then drop down, his gaze slowly moving down over Aramis, as if he’s never seen him before and is memorizing every cut of his body, the way his clothes fall over his stomach and hips, all the way down to the way the dirt and mud mucks up his boots. Then he works his way back up slowly, and the weight of his gaze is heavy and intoxicating and Aramis feels drunk on it, drunker than even the wine that hums in his blood. 

Porthos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to tease again, but Aramis just shakes his head and leans in, capturing those words before he can speak them, pressing his chest to Porthos’ and sliding his hand up to touch at his cheek. He presses his lips against Porthos’ and kisses him, and it certainly shuts up whatever he was going to say, and instead he presses into the kiss, deepening it leisurely. Aramis hums quietly, pleased, brushing his hands down Porthos’ front and cupping his hips, sliding his thumbs along the cut of the bone as he nips and nibbles at Porthos’ lips, smiling more when he hears the deep answering rumbling in his chest. 

Eventually though, Aramis does pull away from the kiss, lingering close just to breathe out his name, brushing a few more stray kisses over his mouth and along his jaw, feeling the scratch of his beard and stubble against his own cheek, and nips at his ear. 

“You’re taking your time,” Porthos mumbles, his voice throaty and gravelly in just the right way that makes Aramis shiver. 

He laughs warmly against his ear, nipping at the earlobe as he shakes his head just slightly, lips brushing at the spot just below his ear. “I’m setting the mood, my unspeakably unromantic friend.” 

Porthos grunts and Aramis laughs again. He removes his hat, drops it so it lands gracefully a few steps away from their feet. 

“You’re impatient,” Aramis teases, nuzzling into his throat and kissing down the length of a long scar tucked into the column of his neck. “It’s rather charming, you know” 

“You’re the one to drag me out here,” Porthos mutters.

Aramis laughs, louder this time, his hands sliding from his hips to his belt, unbuckling it slowly, torturously slow. He feels Porthos shift his hips expectantly and smiles more. “You,” he says, laughing, “are so sacrificing, then, to allow me to ‘drag’ you.” 

“Just get on with it,” Porthos mutters, and turns his head to catch him in a kiss. Aramis laughs but kisses him back. 

“I would,” he mumbles into the kiss, working at the buttons of his trousers to tug them down over his hips, fingertips brushing pointedly, teasingly, along his stomach, tracing the line of hair from navel downwards. “But you’re distracting me now.” 

“ _You’re_ teasing,” Porthos says back, and even manages to roll his eyes once he breaks off the kiss, “and I have nothing to do with it.” 

“Hm,” Aramis huffs dramatically, and then just grins. “Well. You already know my plans.” 

He drops down to his knees, settling himself into a relatively comfortable position, his hands sliding down to pull down his clothes until they rest at about mid-thigh, fingertips brushing back upwards through the coarse hair of his legs before cupping Porthos’ hips and blinking up at him innocently. 

“This what you had in mind, my friend?” 

Instead of rolling his eyes, there’s a touch of a smile quirking up one corner of Porthos’ mouth. 

“It’s a start.” 

Aramis presses in, nuzzling against his thigh and brushing a kiss over his hip, looking up at him with a warm smile and a laugh as he says, “You’ll have to tell me if someone passes by.” 

“As if you’d care,” Porthos says, and he’s definitely smile now even as he shivers when Aramis turns his head to nuzzle into his half-hard cock. His breath hitches a little. “You’d probably do better under an audience.” 

“You wound me,” Aramis says, and brushes his lips over the base of his cock, watching as it begins to thicken under the small, teasing touches. “You know that I’d only do my absolute best for you, under any circumstances – audience or otherwise.” 

“Your best seems to involve a lot of teasing,” Porthos counters, and rocks his hips up just the barest amount, his cock brushing over Aramis’ cheek. 

Aramis huffs a laugh against Porthos’ skin, warm air flushing over his hip. “I must be losing my touch if you’re not quivering yet.” 

“I don’t quiver.” 

“I bet I can make you quake,” Aramis counters. 

“A slander! Prove me wrong then,” Porthos returns easily enough, leaning back heavily against the wall and pushing his hips up just a little. He’s about to say more, Aramis can tell, but then he takes it upon himself to lick pointedly along the side of his cock and he feels one hand slide tight into his hair and hold fast as Porthos breathes out a quiet curse. 

Aramis hums in agreement against the warm skin. 

“Yeah,” Aramis says quietly, absently to himself, reaching out to stroke Porthos until his cock is fully hard beneath his hand, fingertips dragging from base to tip and back down again, stroking gently but with a firm hold. “Yes,” he says, softer, and smiles wickedly up at Porthos. “That’s what I want.” 

“Then go ahead,” Porthos says, but he doesn’t sound as grumpy as he does expectant, breathless. 

“Demanding really doesn’t suit you,” Aramis teases again, knowing he’s lying as soon as he speaks the words, but he can hear his own voice thick with desire even as he does so, and he kisses over his stomach and hip. “Although, you should be demanding – I am the best.” 

“I’m beginning to think you’re all talk,” Porthos manages to tease back, but his voice is even thicker and wrecked than Aramis’, and they’ve hardly started. Aramis curls his fingers curiously around the head of Porthos’ cock, smiling wider when Porthos’ mouth goes slack for half a moment.

“I’ll make you forget your own name,” Aramis says cheerfully.

“Ambitious,” Porthos returns – but also looks expectant, waiting to see if he really is all talk.

Aramis shoots him a big grin and then before either can say anything else, Aramis slips his lips over the head of Porthos’ cock, experimentally, getting a sense of the weight and thickness of his cock. He creates a tight seal around the head, tongue swirling around the crown and licking gently at the slit, his fingers dragging down slowly to hold him at the base. He sucks gently, and then begins laving his tongue along the cockhead, a tight swirl of his tongue. His usual approach requires a ramping up to it, but now he has a point to prove, so he just dives right in, swallowing around him and pressing his tongue up along the underside of his cock, lips curled tenderly around the cockhead before sliding down a short bit, fingers stroking over the base. 

He glances up in time to see Porthos chew on his lower lip and tilt his head back, adams apple bobbing as he breathes out a short, gravelly curse. 

Aramis draws back from the cock, grinning up at him and stroking him from base to tip and back down again. 

“Told you,” he says, smug. He stifles the beginnings of any protests by taking him into his mouth again and sliding down so the cock goes deeper into his mouth. He laves his tongue along the underside of his cock, traces along the veins and swirls around the jut of his cockhead, one hand stroking over his thigh while the other shifts to cup and roll his balls in his hand, his head bobbing up and down along the cock, drawing more of Porthos in with each movement of his lips and tongue. Porthos doesn’t move, but his hips do shudder a few times, as if physically resisting from thrusting into Aramis’ mouth. 

Aramis hums happily as he swallows around the cock, hollowing his cheeks and drawing him in deeper, suckling and curling his tongue. He watches the way Porthos stomach concaves with each deep inhale, the way the sweat starts to break out across the lines of his muscles as he holds himself back from rutting into Aramis’ mouth. He can hear the way Porthos tries to be quiet, and glancing up at him he can see the way his mouth is open, soft, breathy moans brushing out every few moments when Aramis does a particular swirl of his tongue along the underside of his cockhead. 

His hold on Aramis’ hair is tight, fingers gliding through absently before curling and holding fast, tugging hard on his hair in a way that makes Aramis shiver, his scalp tingle from the attention. He smiles around the cock in his mouth and keeps glancing up at him, memorizing his reactions, making sure that it’s good, making sure he’s teasing just enough without teasing too much. Porthos’ expression is slack, though, warm and open and vulnerable, his eyelids fluttering when he keeps his eyes closed. There’s some sweat on his brow that Aramis wants to lick off him. 

“I have to admit,” Aramis says, conversationally as he draws back, stroking his hand quickly over Porthos’ cock. “Debauched is a good look for you.” 

Porthos mutters something that could have been a comeback, but it comes out soft and breathless and his stomach hollows out as he heaves out a heavy breath, so Aramis doesn’t quite hear him. Aramis just gives an affirmative noise, nuzzling against his hip and laughing, licking at the base and over the curve of his thigh absently, fingers curled gently around the cockhead as he pillows his lips along the length of it, comfortable now with the girth and weight of it, loving the feel of it against his mouth, against his fingertips. He brushes his lips and drags the tip of his tongue from base to tip again, swirling it along the slit and smiling up at him, fingertips curling after his tongue to stroke him through the occasionally twitch of his hips. 

“Enjoying yourself, love?” he asks and out hiccups the word. He’s drunker than he thought – but he also can’t really bring himself to mind, especially since whenever he calls him that, Porthos gets that gruffly embarrassed expression – ridiculous and endearing. He nuzzles into his hip, pausing in his task, just enjoying the feel of the strong body beneath his chin. 

“What do you think?” Porthos growls out. 

Aramis laughs and drags his mouth down over his cock, swallowing around him with a quiet hum of pleasure as he suckles pointedly, eliciting another moan from Porthos. 

“I think,” Aramis breathes out, letting his lips brush down the length of his cock as he presses in closer, brushing stray kisses over his naval and up over his belly button. He grins up at him, licking and kissing over the lines of his muscles. “I think you shouldn’t move for a moment.” 

Porthos gives him a look that clearly means he doesn’t comprehend, but Aramis just shakes his head, one hand bracing against his hip to keep him pinned against the wall. He strokes over his cock with his other hand a few more times and then leans in, opening his mouth and taking him as deeply as he can. He’s out of practice, and with proper patience and preparation he thinks he could swallow down the entire length, but tonight he can only manage most of it before his gag reflex demands he pull away again, breathing out harshly, panting a little. Porthos moans, blinking down at him, mouth slightly open. Aramis huffs out a determined laugh and presses closer to him, kissing the head of his cock before breathing out slowly, relaxing his jaw and sinks down onto Porthos’ cock, his nose almost pressing up against the wiry hair at the base – wondering if he really can make Porthos forget his name. But before he can manage he’s fighting against the urge to choke and pulls back, covering his momentary failure by bobbing his head instead, licking over the underside. 

Porthos hand is in his hair, carding through it gently, thumb circling over his scalp as he struggles to hold his hips back, to keep from just rutting into Aramis’ mouth. Aramis can feel the way his hip shakes underneath his hand, struggling to hold back. 

Aramis licks his lips, tries again, and this time manages to almost take all of him, slowly relearning the skill he’s been out of practice with for a while now – he moves slowly, swallowing around Porthos’ cock and drawing him in deep into his mouth, fucking his mouth over the cock while holding Porthos back, feeling how badly he wants to thrust up into his mouth. If he felt more confident in the action, Aramis would let him – perhaps next time. 

He smiles up at Porthos, turning his head a little to press his tongue over the cock, feeling it press up against his cheek. 

“You can move again,” he whispers, sliding in closer and opening his mouth, mindful of his teeth and making sure he’s in a good position before squeezing Porthos’ hip, drawing it forward, setting a pace for him. “Go on.” 

Porthos, above all, is impatient in these matters, it seems – because he doesn’t need any more prompting than that and begins to rock his hips forward, pressing his cock deep into Aramis’ mouth, fucking his mouth slowly. Porthos moans, quietly, pumping his hips steadily enough that Aramis can drag his hand over his skin instead of guiding him, touching at his hip, at his thigh, over his shuddering stomach. His hold on Aramis’ hair is tight and he just fucks into his mouth and Aramis moans, too, just taking it, dropping one hand down to press against his own cock straining against his trousers, his breathing shallow as he swallows around Porthos. 

And Aramis knows these situations, can feel the shifts, and he feels the way Porthos’ thrusts shudder and stutter in place, knows that his friend is close, and he looks up at him as the pace falters, raising one eyebrow in welcome. 

“Aramis,” Porthos says quietly, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s heard all night and it sets Aramis’ blood on fire and he sucks in a sharp breath, pressing his hand hard against his cock through the material of his clothes, rocks his own hips upwards. He tilts his head back as Porthos draws back, groaning quietly, his entire body shaking.

“Come on,” Aramis whispers, voice raw from exertion and desire. “Give it to me, Porthos.” 

He moves his hand to stroke Porthos to his finish, and leans forward to curl his mouth around the head of his cock a moment before he sees Porthos’ face twist up with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut and rocking his hips forward. He comes and Aramis tastes it on his tongue and he moans, rocking his hips up against his own hand as he strokes Porthos with the other, milking him dry. 

When Porthos is spent, he slumps lazily against the wall, breathing out harshly, trying to recapture his breath. Aramis leans forward, nuzzling against his hip and just breathing out, his hand moving steadily over himself, fumbling for the laces to draw himself out but more distracted listening to the soft, breathy sounds Porthos is making. 

And then Porthos rumbles out, “Come here.”

And he tugs on his hair and Aramis obeys, rising to his feet with a cheeky smile, about to whisper out some kind of teasing word, before Porthos is dragging him in by his shirt collar and kissing him. Their kiss is a mash of different states – Porthos is sated and lazy, but Aramis is demanding, desperately kissing him, all tongue and teeth, messy and challenging. 

“Come on,” Aramis whispers, and rocks his hips against Porthos’, letting the swell of his cock press against his hip. 

“Yeah,” Porthos mumbles and drops his hand down, undoing the belt and buttons for him. Instead of touching him, though, he lifts his hands to get a hold on Aramis’ wrists, lifting his arms up to rest against his shoulders. 

Aramis groans. “My friend, I really—”

“Yeah,” Porthos interrupts, kissing him again and cupping his hips, guiding Aramis’ pace. 

Aramis doesn’t need to be told twice, and ruts against Porthos’ naval as he feels Porthos reach down and touch him, stroking him in time and Aramis moans, quietly, his breathing harsh as he demands more and more from the kiss, bucking his hips. He feels Porthos shift so he has a leg between Aramis’, pressing up as he strokes him, and Aramis feels his breath hitch. 

“Good?” Porthos mumbles into the kiss.

“You have no idea,” Aramis whispers back, and then stops talking altogether in order to keep rutting, riding his leg and kissing him and clinging to his shoulders until finally, blissfully, he shudders, moans, and comes all over Porthos’ stomach. 

His breathing takes a while to even begin to sound normal, but it’s alright – the two of them trade lazy kisses until their breath returns, Porthos sliding a hand into his hair to keep him close, Aramis humming softly, pleased. 

“Remember your name?” Aramis whispers.

“Maybe next time,” Porthos says into the kiss, laughing. 

Aramis laughs and kisses him deeper. “Yeah,” he laughs when he pulls back, pressing his forehead to Porthos’. “Next time.”


End file.
